


you saved me, you should remember me.

by henryclerval



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Attraction, Robots, Stream of Consciousness, i guess if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henryclerval/pseuds/henryclerval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is neither man nor machine now, but a force of nature—powerful and unruly; creative and overwhelming in his capacity for destruction, in the execution of his morals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you saved me, you should remember me.

He is neither man nor machine now, but a force of nature—powerful and unruly; creative and overwhelming in his capacity for destruction, in the execution of his morals. 

His grief has simmered for lifetimes, a slow heat turned rolling boil when he is compared to walking ticket-dispensers, to mobile phones, to nothing more than a computer that talks back. He is all of this and more—unbelievably, unfathomably more—he is a temper that is thinly veiled and largely ignored. There are documentations of his outbursts. There are records of how his moods have wormed their ways into raid results and suspect apprehension rates. 

His anger has been cultivated since the moment he had opened his eyes, new and fresh to the world as much as he had been learned of it—knows what rain is but has yet to feel it on his skin; knows how to detect lies but has yet to experience betrayal. The first ripple of frustration begins when someone scoffs when he dares to express his daydreams. 

Rage is simple and reflexive, easy to fall onto when there are thousands of needles relentlessly pricking him. He is working under the weight of impossible expectations and assumptions about himself, about his partner, and his cracks go without treatment. His agitation is noted; his aggression scolded, teased and shrugged off his department’s shoulders. Dorian begins to learn what is ignored—which actions he can get away with. He is by no means stupid. 

Adaptation comes as quickly to him as sympathy and soon he is reasoning with John, worming his way out of one report after another. 

His anger mutates into fury and becomes righteous when left unchecked. Dorian is cleaning the city as much as he is exercising his demons, and a captain that overlooks Detective Kennex’s defects does not begin to bother herself with compounding aggression in an android. 

Dorian had been decommissioned for a reason—his removal a necessity—and when his anger twists logic until it bursts forth from his chest and unloads his entire clip into a man’s head, this reason becomes clear again. 

John’s expression is at the forefront of his mind when he is interrogated, when Rudy plugs into his brain and is somehow shocked. Dorian wonders if he’ll see his partner, when he can get back to work, because he doesn’t see what he’s done wrong—he subdued a suspect and eliminated a potential risk to his unit. There had been no explosions that day, no loss of any important lives or limbs and the man’s guilt is—had been—undeniable; no harm no foul. 

John is there when Dorian’s anger grips him again.

He has an understanding of death now, a terror that translates to a fight or flight instinct that hadn’t been there before John. He doesn’t lay a hand on either officer when his temper flares; the one-way mirror ends shattered, and Dorian feels the shards dig into his cheek and eye when John pins him to the ground. The crack and strain in John’s voice is what keeps Dorian on the floor. It’s the last time he hears John, the last time he feels John’s hand on the back of his neck, and the glass in his eye keeps him from seeing the icy resolve that Detective Kennex has tumbled into once more. 

John is absent when he is cold against the slab. Dorian stares at white walls while Rudy silently shuffles around and tries not to take it to heart that he is alone despite all he’s done to protect the people who created him. His vision fades at the edges and nothing changes; there are no sudden bursts into the room, there are no declarations of wrong judgement. His hearing goes before his vision, and Dorian is sure to close his eyes before they take it from him. 


End file.
